


Through the dark, a sunbeam

by bisexualowain



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 10:39:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16406879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualowain/pseuds/bisexualowain
Summary: When a life is injured on the battlefield, what is it like for the one that has to save it?





	Through the dark, a sunbeam

There’s a moment when bravado by itself doesn’t cut it. Steel pierces flesh and red seeps out.

Brady never liked seeing blood, though dealing with it is a necessary part of being a healer in times of war. He doesn’t have to like it, specially when a life he holds dear is at stake.

The threat being vanquished by their allies should bring comfort, relief, but it doesn’t this time.

Brady bites his lower lip and he feels he can’t talk. Every iota of his focus needs to go into healing the grizzly wound before him.

Ruptured organs, shattered bones, blood loss. Healing this kind of injury is never easy, and it’s unfortunately never a guarantee.

His lips are in tatters, his throat so coarse it threatens to strangle him. There’s blood all over him and he wishes it were his own. Things would be easier that way.

He refuses the water handed to him by the faceless friends that want to help. This is his mission and he has to do his best.

Even blinking is far too much of a distraction when he considers what he could lose in that infinitesimally short time span. His eyes water, but he can’t cry… not yet. He doesn’t have that luxury right now.

Silently, he begs to any god who would listen to let only a scar remain. Not a flower on a grave, a funeral march or mourning veils.

The emptiness growls at him. It knows his patient’s name and it wants its due. It reminds him he’ll have to start picking the words to explain it to their daughter.

With a whimper, Brady shoos it away. There’ll be time to blame himself, to hurt himself, afterwards. There’s something more important on the line right now.

Other healers have joined him, but they all are a blur. He’s thankful but he cannot find the words within him to thank any of them. He thinks his mother might be among the crowd, but his head and heart hurt when his focus is diverted.

Pleas become more desperate, his hands tremble and exhaustion takes a hold of his curate skills. He wishes for a panacea now more than ever. A miracle would be welcome. It might be the only way.

With the back of his hand, Brady wipes away a tear. Not now, not now, not now. Blood is smeared on his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Sweat beads his forehead as he’s handed a bit of thread to close a wound. He doesn’t want to hurt the one in the makeshift bed, but he hopes he does. It would mean he can feel.

The healer hits his already banged up hand against the floor when it trembles too much to handle equipment. Maybe it’s out of frustration, or perhaps desperation.

His stomach lurches at the mangled sight before him. A body he knew so well, twisted before him into a horror scene. He hopes the ending is a least hopeful.

He knows the patient himself would make light of it, that he wouldn’t care, and that squeezes his heart even more. How one could be so strong and him, so weak.

Is heroism worth it, if it still leaves lives in tatters? Is it only swapping which life ends and which ekes out, bloodied and shambled?

Brady’s hand caresses the other man’s cheek. He wonders if the tears on it fells from his own eyes when he wasn’t looking.

“I’m sorry I made you worry,” is what he says when he comes to. He doesn’t ponder where he is, doesn’t wonder if he’s got little time left, or what happened afterwards. He doesn’t know the struggle, but the struggle he knows is not this one.

Unable to hold it all, to bear the weight any longer, Brady collapses into Owain’s chest, his sobs absorbing the wounded man’s words of reassurance. He appreciates them, but he needs to cry right now, and maybe for the next few hours.

“You’ve done so well… thank you for saving me. You are my hero of light, blessed by the gods themselves, who saw fit to introduce me to you. My life is saved and I promise to spend it with you, forever more.”

It’s incredible that he can formulate these speeches after nearly dying. How a flame so close to flickering out can burn once more so brightly.

Owain smiles, but Brady cannot. Not yet. A warmth envelops him and he knows it’ll be alright, even if it doesn’t feel that way immediately.

That smile, that infuriating, beautiful smile. It’s one without regrets, and Brady wishes he could repay him with his own. Maybe one day he would learn. That infuriating smile is enough to dry his tears, and the kiss that follows eases the pounding of his chest.

The lance might have been meant for Brady, had he not intervened, but it was Owain’s smile that truly pierced his heart.


End file.
